The older hostage’s whisper hit Elara like a silver dagger to the chest.
“Varak already has the ritual circle ready. He doesn’t need all seven days. He plans to strike on the third night — when the moon is still waxing. He said the heart is weakest then… and easiest to rip out.”
The boy’s grip on her wrist was surprisingly strong for someone who had just been rescued from chains and silver blades. His eyes were wide with terror and exhaustion, but the warning was clear.
Elara felt the blood drain from her face. Three nights. Not seven. Varak had lied about the deadline to buy himself time while forcing them into a panic. The ritual circle was already prepared, and he intended to tear the heart of the silent moon from her on the third night — when the waxing moon was still growing in pow
